


Never Let Me Go

by monsoon_moon



Category: Point Break (1991)
Genre: Fix-It, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsoon_moon/pseuds/monsoon_moon
Summary: “You cut your hair,” Bodhi says, reaching out to tug gently at a patch behind Johnny's ear. “Suits you better this way.”
Relationships: Bodhi/Johnny Utah
Comments: 18
Kudos: 71
Collections: Limited Theatrical Release 2020





	Never Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carodee (Caro_Dee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_Dee/gifts).



Johnny looks out over the waves, slow at the tailend of summer but still bright and enticing. He breathes in the salt air and tries to quell the rushing under his skin he still gets any time he's near the water, fingers itching for the feel of a board in them.

The last of the surfers had already gone, just the late in the day beachgoers left behind, finishing up leisurely swims and beach picnics. He'd tried to talk to a few of the surfers earlier in the morning but, territorial as always, he got nothing out of them. Not that there was anything for him to actually get.

He takes another deep breath and lets his eyes settle on the horizon. He's going to stop, he vows. The same vow he makes to himself every ocean he's stared out at the last five years. He's going to stop taking PI jobs that send him all up and down the US coasts. He's going to stop chasing whispers, stop looking for something he knows isn't out there. Put down roots. Maybe get a dog.

Another deep breath. He can do that. Step away. Start a new life. A real one this time.

“Johnny Utah,” a voice Johnny never expected to hear ever again says in his ear and a hand falls heavily onto his shoulder, squeezing.

Johnny turns from the ocean and Bodhi is standing, grinning at him like they're old friends. Johnny blinks, wonders if his mind has finally given and fractured all the way through, conjuring him up a dead man. The dead man squints in the late afternoon sun.

“You cut your hair,” he says, reaching out to tug gently at a patch behind Johnny's ear. “Suits you better this way.”

“Figured it made me look like a narc,” Johnny says back, instinct more than anything else.

“You never looked like a narc,” Bodhi says back, mouth a flat serious line.

Johnny doesn't know what to do with this so instead he moves his head, tugs his hair out of Bodhi's fingers gently. Bodhi smiles and lets him.

Johnny can't stop staring. He wants to grab someone nearby and ask if they can see Bodhi too. He'd spent five years chasing a ghost only for that ghost to tap him on the shoulder on a random beach and smile at him. It seems wildly impossible.

Bodhi's eyes crinkle when he smiles. Johnny had forgotten.

“Come on,” Bodhi says, looking back over his shoulder. Johnny has the irrational urge to reach out and grab his shirt, make him look at Johnny again. Like Bodhi might disappear if he isn't paying attention.

“Come on,” Bodhi says again, jerking his head, “You've been chasing me long enough, I figure you deserve a beer.”

“You knew?” Johnny says, voice cracking before he can cover it.

Bodhi turns, eyes on Johnny, walking backwards and laughs. The sound makes Johnny's heart pound so hard he stumbles in the soft sand.

“Surfers talk, Johnny, you should know,” Bodhi says, a wry tilt to his mouth, and turns back around, heading up the beach, expecting Johnny to follow in his wake.

Johnny does.

The bar is dark, natural wood and the permeating smell of spilt beer. It smells like every other seaside dive bar Johnny has ever been to. It's quiet, most of the crowd at the tables eating so Bodhi leads them to the bar, waving acknowledgements to called greetings as they go. Johnny follows the strong lines of his back to the stools Bodhi nods to, tugging Johnny's out first before grabbing one for himself, tossing a careless leg over it.

“It's been a long time, Johnny,” Bodhi says, nodding at the bartender who drops off two beers that immediately begin sweating in the heat.

“You should be in jail,” is all Johnny can think to say, grabbing his beer, letting the cold seep into his palm, grounding him.

“You let me go,” Bohdi says, leaning in close like they're sharing secrets. Like half the FBI and local law enforcement hadn't been on the beach that day with them.

“You were supposed to drown,” Johnny says back, the tilt to his mouth betraying his confusion.

“It's not tragic to die doing what you love,” Bodhi says, smiling over the rim of his beer, and the echo drags Johnny back to a point in time before five years and countless dead bodies lay between them.

“You didn't die,” Johnny says back, instead of thinking about what the fuck he's doing here, sitting with a man he should have arrested and instead let go. Twice.

“Neither did you,” Bodhi says, tipping his beer at Johnny before taking a long swallow, the brown glass glinting in the low light of the bar.

“No, but I lost everything else,” Johnny replies, sudden furious dizzying anger coursing through him. “My career. My partner.”

Bodhi sits back, eyes on Johnny's face, bright and calculating. It's so clear that he's waiting for Johnny's next move that it whisks all the anger right out from under Johnny's skin, leaving behind nothing but bone deep shock.

“I lost people too,” Bodhi says when it's clear Johnny isn't planning to tackle him to the floor and punch him in the face. Johnny snorts.

“Well I guess we're equal then,” Johnny says, sarcasm making his voice bitter. He looks away then, away from Bodhi and his calculating eyes, out over the bar. Bodhi's hand on his wrist drags his attention back. The first time Bodhi's touched him in five years. Johnny tries to shake that thought out of his brain.

“We are,” Bodhi says, ducking his head to make sure their eyes meet. “We've always been equal, Johnny. I've been waiting for you to catch up.”

“What does that even mean,” Johnny asks, eyes dropping to Bodhi's fingers still wrapped around his wrist, loose enough that Johnny could break his hold easily. He doesn't.

“Sometimes life makes the waves,” Bodhi says, tugging at his wrist until Johnny meets his eyes again. “Sometimes you get caught inside and sometimes you hit them clean, you know?”

Johnny nods, helpless, because he does know, because Bodhi drags this raw reluctant honesty out of him, always has.

“You just gotta let yourself feel the power,” Bodhi says, leaning back again, letting go of Johnny's wrist, seemingly satisfied with whatever he sees in Johnny's face. “You gotta let yourself get in sync.”

Johnny looks at Bodhi, really looks, at his tanned skin and the focus in his eyes, the way his shirt drops at his neck, exposing the dip of his collarbone, and the salt in his sun bleached hair. Bodhi looks back, unfazed by Johnny's attention, relaxed, wide open.

 _For the taking_ whispers in Johnny's brain and he jerks back, shakes out his shoulders and grabs his own beer, taking a long steadying gulp. Jesus christ, seeing Bodhi alive again after so long had really wrecked his head.

“Johnny,” Bodhi says, voice low, commanding attention that Johnny is helpless not to give. They stare at each other and Johnny's whole body tenses, like the moment before they'd burst into that bank or the split second before he'd jumped after Bodhi without a parachute. Johnny knows this feeling, the wiretight stillness that takes over right before he's leaping both feet first into something he has no business being in.

“Bodhi, hey!” someone calls. Johnny blinks as they're engulfed by a group of surfers, sand and salt so familiar to Johnny's nose, and the moment breaks.

Johnny sits back, breathing deeply and finishes his beer, signalling the bartender for another. By the time his attention is called back to the group for the obligatory introductions, Bodhi already has a woman in his lap, arm slung around her waist, grinning easily at the group orbiting him.

Johnny's many things, been accused of a lot and been guilty of more, but he's not stupid. He knows Bodhi is dangerous. It's right there in the easy way he captures the groups attention and holds it, knows exactly how to keep everyone dangling on his hook. The vision he chases, the road he follows, there can't be anything good at the end of it, Johnny knows. Doesn't stop him from wondering what it would be like to walk it with him a while.

It's a stupid, treacherous thought and one Johnny can't shake. He finishes his beer, listens to the group around him chatter about their post summer plans, and watches Bodhi dance with the woman from earlier out of the corner of his eye. Bodhi pulls her close, hand low on her back, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

 _You're either scared or you're getting too close to your surfer guru,_ Pappas' voice whispers in his ear, _and I don't think you're scared._

Bodhi's head snaps up and he looks over like Johnny had called his name. Their eyes meet and Bodhi smiles at him, sharp at the edges, challenging. Usually that challenge made the parts that chase the same high Bodhi chases sit up and take notice. Usually that challenge would be something Johnny would meet head on. Not tonight.

Instead he turns away, drops his shoulders and stares sightlessly at the bottles of liquor lining the gantry, wondering what the fuck he's doing here, what the fuck he's been doing with the last five years of his life, chasing a person he thought was dead and a feeling he thought had died with them. He waits a little longer, letting the ebb and flow of the bar buffer him and then, when he's sure the group around him are distracted, he drops a twenty on the bar, nods at the bartender and slips around the back of the group, heading to the door and out into the night.

He's most of the way back to his shitty motel when he hears footsteps approaching rapidly from behind. Johnny hasn't been law enforcement for half a decade but he still tenses, dropping a shoulder and tilting his body slightly.

He tips down when a body hits him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, clasping just under his collarbone. Johnny tries to shuck them off but they cling on as they both stagger in a drunken lopsided circle. It's the laugh close to his ear that stops him.

“Bodhi,” he gasps, “what the fuck.”

“You always loved a fight,” Bodhi says into Johnny's hair, feet back flat on the ground, pressed all against Johnny's back, arms still tight over his chest.

“I could have hurt you,” Johnny says, trying to twist out of Bodhi's grip. Bodhi doesn't let him. He's strong, toughened by the ocean Johnny thinks then berates himself for such a stupid sentimental thought.

“You didn't say goodbye,” Bodhi says instead, tugging Johnny until Johnny's walking in the opposite direction to his motel. “You chased me for five years to leave without saying goodbye?” Bodhi's mouth is close to Johnny's ear, breath making goosebumps rush down the back of Johnny's neck. “That doesn't sound like the Johnny Utah I know.”

“You don't know me,” Johnny answers but he stops fighting, lets Bodhi lead him wherever they're going. It's not like it's any different from all the other times Bodhi's led and Johnny's followed.

The house Bodhi pushes him into is a little one storey yellow building with cutsey white trim on the windows. It's dark inside, mostly bare in the way short term rentals tend to be but the bedroom has Bodhi written all over it.

Johnny turns when Bodhi finally stops touching him to find Bodhi leaning against the closed door, watching him with too intense eyes. The curtains are open, streetlight refracting across his cheekbones and Johnny feels that familiar wiretight stillness.

“What are you doing?” he says, murmurs mostly, but he moves forward anyway, into the light. Bodhi pushes off the door and walks closer, meeting him halfway.

“Are you ready to let go?” Bodhi asks, voice low as a whisper. He presses in close, not quite touching.

Johnny doesn't know. He doesn't know anything anymore. Not why he failed out of a promising career for a goddamn bank robber, not why he chased a dead man's memory for five years, not why he's standing here right now, in the dark, sharing breaths with a man who'd forced him into armed robbery, threatened to murder the woman he was in a relationship with and then tried to drown him.

He doesn't have answers and he doesn't want to think through the maelstrom in his head so he surges forward, pressing their mouths together, digging his fingers into Bodhi's shoulders, challenging him the way he's always challenged Johnny. It's Bodhi though so of course he doesn't follow the script Johnny lays down.

“Whoa whoa hey,” Bodhi says, laughing against Johnny's mouth. It makes Johnny wild with the need to put him down but Bodhi doesn't let him, resists Johnny's grasping fingers and the angry press of his body.

“You don't want it rough with me,” Bodhi says, pinning his arms to his sides, mouth trailing slowly across Johnny's cheek, “you never did. Here, I'll show you.”

He skins Johnny out of his shirt, tossing it aside, then drags his own over his head. Johnny stands, dumbstruck with longing and Bodhi grins at him then topples him to the bed. He pops the buttons of Johnny's jeans and drags them off along with his boxers until Johnny is bare.

“This mine?” Bodhi asks, eyes sharp, running a finger under the curve of Johnny's pec, tracing the vaya con dios that disappears into the shadows under his arm and Johnny abruptly remembers his impulsive decision to commemorate his anger and his grief on his body.

He tries to sit up, embarrassed, but Bodhi puts a hand in the middle of his chest and shoves until he's flat on his back, tags his thighs apart and kneels between them, staring down at him. It's too close, too much, then Bodhi leans down and presses his mouth to the words and Johnny gasps in the silence of the room, dragging in air like he's drowning. Bodhi's mouth follows the curve, tongue coming after lips.

“I did,” he says against Johnny's shoulder, “I went with God and God gave me back.” He sits back up again and looks down at Johnny, eyes wild with fervour. “Do you ever wonder why that was? Why I'm still here? There's a reason for everything Johnny.”

“Is there?” Johnny wonders out loud and Bodhi laughs, lifts himself to shove his own shorts and boxers off then drops back between Johnny's thighs.

“You know there is,” Bodhi says, “Or you wouldn't be here.”

Johnny has something to say to that, several things actually, but Bodhi presses their stomachs together, Johnny's mouth falling open when their dicks slide together and Bodhi fills it with his tongue. It's overwhelming, Bodhi on top of him, holding him down, kissing him with all that focus and intensity.

Bodhi's weight disappears for a second and Johnny is mortified by the needy sound that slips out of his mouth. Bodhi just looks back at him, eyes serious, says “I'm not going anywhere this time,” then he's slicking their dicks and pressing back down, making Johnny pant at the way they slide together.

It's so much, in the dark, Bodhi's heat against him, mouthing at his jaw, at his neck, thumb stroking the tattoo on his chest as he slides between Johnny's thighs, ratcheting them both up, the only sounds from their bodies and the quiet panting whines Johnny can't keep in his mouth. His whole body feels alive, like when he catches the perfect wave, like when he dives out of a plane, like when he chases a lead to its natural conclusion, fizzing with that perfect moment of clarity.

He reaches down to grab at his dick but Bodhi slaps his hand away, pinning it to the bed. He raises himself up and looks down at Johnny who's positive his face must look as wrecked at the rest of him feels.

“That's your problem, Johnny,” Bodhi says, “You want to get where you're going yesterday. You don't know how to take your time.” He bends down fast, biting at Johnny's lip, a hard sting that makes Johnny's hips jerk up. “I'm gonna teach you how to live in the moment you're being given.”

Then he's back, mouth on Johnny's neck, sucking in hard pulses that echo in Johnny's stomach and his thighs and his dick. Johnny can't get his arm loose, can't get any purchase at all. The hot slow build in him every time Bodhi slides against him robbing him of the ability to do anything but press back, shove up into the slide, chase the hot sparking pleasure every time their dicks slide together.

“Fuck,” he grits out, squeezing his eyes closed, hips canting, chasing chasing chasing.

“That's it, Johnny,” Bodhi says against his mouth, “Get in sync, let it take you.”

Bodhi licks across his throat and their dicks catch just right and Johnny's whole body fractures. It's like catching a break just right, like all those perfect moments crystallised into one and it crashes through Johnny's body, again and again, until he's wrung out from the high, body shaky and scoured sensitive from the pleasure.

Bodhi keeps moving against him, chasing his own high, and Johnny widens his legs, reaches down to curve his hands over Bodhi's ass, tugging him down tighter, encourage him to move harder. It's too much for Johnny's sensitive body, bordering on painful, and it feels better than anything Johnny's ever experienced.

When Bodhi comes, he comes laughing breathlessly against Johnny's neck, muscles spasming with the force of the pleasure rolling through him. He pants there for a long minute then gently bites at Johnny's throat, making him gasp as his body jerks at the sensation.

“That was a ride,” Bodhi says, grabbing Johnny's shirt from the floor and giving them both a cursory wipe before tossing in back into the shadows.

“Hey,” Johnny says but Bodhi is already tugging Johnny onto his side, curling onto his own, sliding them close together until their knees and foreheads touch. He's so close his features look soft to Johnny's tired blurry eyes.

“Tomorrow I'm gonna show you everything,” Bodhi says, “Johnny, do you hear me? Everything.”

Johnny nods tiredly, lets Bodhi's warm arm settle across his waist, palm pressed on the high curve of his ass. He falls asleep to Bodhi humming against his temple.

All Johnny can see is the blue blue expanse of sky, knee jammed up against the thrown open car door, jeans tugged to his thighs, Bodhi on his knees in the dirt, sucking Johnny's dick in the middle of the day on a deserted highway. Johnny doesn't know how long it'll stay deserted. This is so risky, so fucking idiotic. It sends a thrill of heat up his spine and he can feel Bodhi's fingers digging hard into his thighs.

The sun beats down on his face and his back arches under the pressure of Bodhi's mouth and he can't stop thinking that there's nowhere else he wants to be, keeps thinking it as he jerks in Bodhi's mouth and Bodhi takes it all and then doesn't let up, mouthing Johnny's sore spent dick until Johnny gets a foot on his shoulder and kicks him off. He lands ass first on the road, already laughing.

“What the fuck was that,” Johnny asks while he's tugging up his jeans, gingerly tucking himself away, embarrassed by the thoughts he'd just had and unable to make eye contact. He jumps, hands automatically finding Bodhi's waist and resting there when Bodhi stands up, kicks at his boot then muscles into Johnny's lap.

“Maybe I just wanted to suck your dick in Utah, Utah,” he says, eyes dancing, giddy with something. Johnny tilts his head, trying to work it out, and Bodhi winks at him then tugs open the glovebox and drops an envelope onto Johnny's chest.

“Okay, maybe I wanted to make sure you were in a good mood,” Bodhi concedes, lips pressed together.

Johnny glances at him, wary, then tips the envelope between them. A passport and two plane tickets fall out into their laps. Johnny stares at them then back up at Bodhi.

“What?” he says.

“It's the end of summer here, Johnny,” Bodhi says as Johnny picks up the passport and opens it. It's Bodhi but that's not his name.

“Is this fake?” Johnny asks, “that's a federal crime.”

“Gonna turn me in?” Bodhi bites back, sharp, and Johnny's head snaps up, their eyes meeting catching and holding.

Johnny licks his lips and tries to think around the weight of Bodhi on top of him and the fuzziness of his post orgasm brain. Would it be so bad to walk the road a while he thinks, fingering the tickets, running the pad of his thumb over his own name. It would. It would be that bad and worse. He might never come back from it.

“Good we don't have much luggage, I guess,” he says instead of anything smarter.

Bodhi grins at him, sure and easy, like he'd expected nothing less, then leans down and kisses him, sharp and fast.

“I told you I'd show you everything, Johnny,” Bodhi says.

Johnny lets his hands slide up under Bodhi's shirt, around the hot curve of his ribs and thinks yes, Bodhi probably will.


End file.
